oo late for such as do not love the Shems
el-Kebeer (the big sun), which has just begun. I who worship Ammun Ra,
love to feel him in his glory. It is long since I had any letters, I
want so to hear how you all are.

March 7, 1867: Sir Alexander Duff Gordon

_To Sir Alexander Duff Gordon_.

_March_ 7, 1867.

DEAREST ALICK,

I have written a long yarn to Mutter and am rather tired, so I only write
to say I am much better. The heat has set in, and, of course with it my
health has mended, but I am a little shaky and afraid to tire myself.
Moreover I want to nurse up and be stronger by next Thursday when Janet
and Ross are expected.

What a queer old fish your Dublin antiquary is, who wants to whitewash
Miss Rhampsinitus, and to identify her with the beloved of Solomon (or
Saleem); my brain spun round as I read it. Must I answer him, or will
you? A dragoman gave me an old broken travelling arm-chair, and Yussuf
sat in an arm-chair for the first time in his life. 'May the soul of the
man who made it find a seat in Paradise,' was his exclamation, which
strikes me as singularly appropriate on sitting in a very comfortable
armchair. Yussuf was thankful for small mercies in this case.

I am afraid Janet may be bored by all the people's civility; they will
insist on making great dinners and fantasias for her I am sure. I hope
they will go on to Assouan and take me with them; the change will do me
good, and I should like to see as much of her as I can before she leaves
Egypt for good.

The state of business here is curious. The last regulations have stopped
all money lending, and the prisons are full of Sheykh el-Beled whose
villages can't pay the taxes. Most respectable men have offered me to go
partners with them now in their wheat, which will be cut in six weeks, if
only I would pay their present taxes, I to take half the crop and half
the taxes, with interest out of their half--some such trifle as 30 per
cent, per month. Our prison is full of men, and we send them their
dinner _a tour de role_. The other day a woman went with a big wooden
bowl on her head, full of what she had cooked for them, accompanied by
her husband. One Khaleel Effendi, a new vakeel here, was there, and
said, 'What dost thou ask here thou harlot?' Her husband answered, 'That
is no harlot, oh Effendim, but my wife.' Whereupon he was beaten till he
fa